Ten Times
by AnimeKFiction
Summary: The ten times Sherlock and John didn't meet - and the one time they did. A series of AUs involving Sherlock and John playing different roles. Includes: Kids, genderswap and John as a (literal) hedgehog. Rating may change for language.
1. Sherlock and the Girl

**So I'm starting a Sherlock fanfiction, and it's probably going to be OOC but oh well, I really wanted to see one of these here and there wasn't one so I made it. Enjoy - even though it's probably gonna suck.**

 **Disclaimer: I DO NOT own the perfection that is Sherlock or else I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for my own show now would I? (You know what I probably would nvm) (But I still don't own it).**

 _Sherlock and the Girl_

Sherlock opened the door to the café after unwillingly agreeing to meet Lestrade. Why in the world would he want to meet in a more public place when New Scotland Yard was just a short cab ride away? Sherlock sighed and figured it must be because of Mycroft. His brother could be so troublesome - he needed to stop keeping tabs on him, Sherlock could take care of himself. There hadn't been a case in weeks and therefore he hadn't left his flat. This must be his way of getting him out of 221B - prompting him with the possibility of an interesting case.

Well, it certainly was working.

Besides, it was boring, and all the cases that had come to him had been simple. How could they not see the answers when they're right there? God, people were idiots.

He ignored the counter and walked to a rounded table nestled into the corner of the building, figuring that it was secluded enough. He sat down and waited, expecting Lestrade to come shortly.

That was what he said when a barista walked over to him to ask if he wanted anything, declining her offer while silently deducing. The way she holds herself said "military". Has a (at least partially) psychosomatic limp - there was a cane resting in the crook of her arm and limped sublty while walking but while standing seemed to have forgotten about it. Light brown hair and tan skin (but not below the wrist) say spent much time outside but obviously in uniform so deployed up until recently. Was a doctor, judging by the callouses on her hands - so army doctor.

She had a slight look of suspicion in her eyes as she listened to him say he wasn't hungry.

Sherlock put his elbows on the table and settled his hands into his signature steeple position. Waiting for Lestrade was boring. Looking around, he silently deduced things about people.

 _He's here with his girlfriend, cheating on his wife while she takes care of his two kids._

 _Old lady is a teacher, upset about her low payment although comes here for overpriced tea and biscuits - family works here._

 _The little boy is sad about his parents divorce but it's his birthday so-_

 _Clink!_

Sherlock stared at the plate and cup set in front of him, then at the barista who set it down in front of him. "I don't have the money to pay for this. Besides, I don't feel the need to have it."

The girl smirked. "It's on the house. Don't worry about it. Eat."

The biscuits didn't look very appealing, but he took the cup of coffee set out in front of him instead. "What's in this?"

"Just a coffee, two sugars. You seem like a two sugars kinda guy."

Her phone rang, and she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. Scowling at the screen, she set it face-down on the table, pulled up the chair and sat next across from Sherlock. "I didn't say you could sit here."

She shrugs. "I didn't ask." She turned to yell at the back of the store and a small smirk formed it's way onto his lips. "Molly! I'm on my lunch break!"

Sherlock sips the coffee, curious as to why this girl was sitting with him. However he stopped short as he tasted something odd. "What else is in here?"

She blinked at him, then replied. "So, you noticed. Not surprised. Just some cinnamon, saffron, and cardamom. Added them cause you look like you haven't eaten in days. Don't say that it's none of my business because I have to make sure everyone is well-fed." She added that last part after Sherlock had opened his mouth (to ask why she was sitting there). He assumed she got that a lot.

"Well, considering you're a retired army doctor I would assume you would want everyone to be healthy considering the amount of death you have most likely seen. With your therapist being right about your at least partly psychosomatic limp, getting paid minimum wage here instead of working at a hospital or clinic like you hoped was better than nothing. Trying to support yourself using this money when your brother walked out on his wife, not accepting money from him for that reason, also possibly because he's also poor, also possibly because you don't like his drinking. Just, one question, Afghanistan on Iraq? It was one of the two you were employed in."

She stared, wide-eyed at Sherlock, eyes and expression unreadable. "That was…" she trailed off, and Sherlock closed his eyes and sipped the coffee, waiting for the inevitable-

"…extraordinary."

The dark-haired man choked a bit in surprise and looked up at the barista. He huffed out a short laugh. "You really think so?"

"Yes, that was, extraordinary. Quite extraordinary."

"Not usually what people say."

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

The girl chuckled at that, then settled down. "How did you do that?"

"I observed. The way you hold yourself says military. Calluses on the certain parts of your hands - doctor. You have a tan but the tan line is below your wrist, so either Afghanistan or Iraq. Recently deployed judging by your limp - you stand like you forget about it."

"And the therapist?"

"Oh, please, you have a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist."

"And then there's my brother."

"Yes, the first obvious sign was - as you've already seen-"

"The engraving on my phone."

"Yes. Harry. Now the phone is new, model came out only six months ago. This is a young man's gadget. Could be cousin but you would most likely not keep contact with them if too far away in the family tree, so, brother. Now, Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says wife, not girlfriend. If she walked out on him, he would've kept it - sentiment. Yet he wanted to get rid of it, so he left her. Has been kept in the same pockets as keys and coins judging by the scratch markings."

"And the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark, but good guess. There are scratches around the charging cable, never see a sober's phone with them, never see a drunk's without."

The girl smiled and looked at the table before looking up at Sherlock again. "Extraordinary. Truly extraordinary."

The taller male smirked. "Did I get anything wrong?"

She shrugged. "I was deployed in Afghanistan, and am a doctor. True that I want to work in a clinic rather than here - although there are the interesting people that come from time to time. Harry and I don't get along that well, never did. Harry does drink, and recently left Clara. They're getting the divorce settled out."

Sherlock smiled, with the knowledge of being right. The girl saw the look and smiled as well, a glint in her eyes.

"Harry is short for Harriet."

The smug look wiped itself from Sherlock's face and he angrily slammed his fist on the table. "Sister! There's always something!" She laughed at his anger, throwing her head back and making people look at them oddly.

"And what's going on here?" A voice said from next to the table. In his involvement with the strange girl, Sherlock failed to notice Lestrade walk into the café.

"Nothing of your interest." Sherlock stood up and gained an impassive look, although his eyes still held the faintest hint of mirth. The girl frowned at this action and picked up the plate of biscuits he had yet to touch.

"You haven't eaten in days, I can tell. Eat something."

Sherlock frowned. "Digestion makes me work slower. I prefer not to eat."

"Eat or I'm going to force you to."

Lestrade watched this all with a small smile as Sherlock managed his biggest glare at the petite woman, who stood her ground, until she glanced at the clock and sighed. "My break is over. If this plate is full when I see you leave I will find you and make you eat."

"You can't do that, can she, Inspector?" Sherlock turned to Lestrade, trying to prove he was right. All he did was shake his head and turn to the brunette.

"As the Detective Inspector, I give you permission to do it. He barely eats."

Sherlock looked betrayed at the claim while the girl just smirked at him and walked away.

"That's not true! I ate all last week."

"Yeah, I doubt it."

Sherlock huffed and lifted his hands under his nose, fingers steepled again. "So did you come here to give me a case or not? And you could've just texted me, you didn't have to have to do this because of Mycroft."

"Actually, I did this on my own accord. Mycroft had no influence this time. But yes, I do have a case, seemed open and shut, just the evidence doesn't add up."

"Well, take me to the sight then. Again, there was no reason to bring me out here."

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his temples, proceeding to walk out the door. Sherlock went to follow, and was halfway out the door when there was a tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me, I think you forgot this?"

He turned to see the girl who he was talking to earlier holding out a white foam box, undoubtedly holding the untouched pastries, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. He frowned but took the box, making her shoulders relax a bit and the smile turning sincere. They both turned to walk their separate ways before Sherlock turned back around.

"You're an army doctor."

The girl turned around. "And?"

"You've seen a lot of death."

"Enough for a lifetime."

He smiled. "Want to see some more?"

She smiled right back. "Oh God, yes."

She followed him out, throwing her work apron over an abandoned chair.

"I never got your name."

"It's polite to say your name first, you know."

A slight smile. A hand held out. "Sherlock Holmes."

A slight smile. A firm grip. "Joan Watson."


	2. The Pirate and The Kid

**I had a lot of fun writing this one. The ending might be shitty but I really wanted to add it in. Please enjoy :)**

 _The Pirate and The Kid_

John panted quietly, hiding inside a small, empty crate. The waves rocked the ship back and forth, making him lose his balance more than once. He closed the top of the crate and clutched the small loaf of bread, silently panting. John's stomach grumbled and he shushed it, putting a finger to his dirty lips.

'The ship should be docking in 3 or 4 hours,' he thought, looking at the bread. 'If I can hide in here and survive off of this until then, I should be okay. Sneaking off should be a piece of cake.'

Thinking of cake made his stomach rumble again, which made the child clutch the food again and frown deeply. He sighed and picked off a piece off bread and salvaged in the taste, not having eaten in days. A small smile wormed his way onto his face.

It disappeared when there was the creak of a nearby door hinge. John froze as footsteps travelled around the room he was in, a burning sensation pricking behind his eyes. He curled himself into a tighter ball, holding his knees to his chest and resting his head on the bread. John could barely hear the mumbling of the other person, they were saying something like, "where is it? This is Anderson's job, not mine. I'm not supposed to remember this, I've already deleted it…" This confused John to a certain extent but he ignored it in favor of repeating the same thought over and over; 'please God, don't let him find me. Please don't let him find me.'

The footsteps stopped, but to John's dread, the voice was now right above him. He managed to stay silent as the lid of the crate was lifted, bathing John in light. He glanced at the one who opened the crate, and backed away. "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry for stealing this! You can have it back!" He held out the bread as an offering, the burning sensation getting stronger.

All the man did was say, "why are you here?" John couldn't see his face, because of the lighting, but he tried to imagine a friendly face, instead of the stereotypical pirate.

"I need to get to the next island, and-and I don't have money, and no one would want me to board their ship, so I climbed on here." Telling his story didn't really make him think the pirates wouldn't hurt him, but maybe they might be sympathetic? The kid wasn't too sure.

He wasn't expecting what came next.

"Well," the man started to say, pushing the bread back in John's arms. "It makes sense why you would stowaway. Between the abusive father, drunk sibling, and homelessness I don't blame you."

John sat there, finally getting a chance to look at the man once he knelt down to peer inside the crate better. He had curly black hair and calculating blue eyes that John now knew could read souls. He had never seen someone with cheekbones like his, either.

"How did you do that?" John asked in part curiosity, part fear and part awe. The man's eyes swept over him again.

"I just observed." The answer didn't satisfy John, and he momentarily forgot this guy was a pirate and could most likely kill him in five or more ways.

"Observed? What do you mean?"

"You have bruises and cuts littering your body under all the dirt, they seem fairly fresh, and there's a new one starting to come in on your cheek. They can't be from falling or accidental injuries, they're shaped like fists and hands, so someone hits you. However, they look too big to be a woman, and too big to be the same as the person with light blonde hair, which is littering your clothes, so father. You reek of alcohol, now I would say father drinks because there are no other bruises indicating anyone else resorts to violence, but there is the fact of the other blonde person. Friend? No, you would've taken them with, along if you had a sibling you cared for. Therefore, sibling whose an alcoholic. And just look at yourself, riddled in dirt and acquires the ability to steal under people's noses without getting caught - of course you're homeless."

John looked up at the man, not sure what to feel. Fear, because of the way he knew everything, awe, because of the way he did that, curiosity, because 'how did he do that?', and sadness for being reminded why he was here. Nevertheless, that was,

"Extraordinary."

"What?" The man seemed confused, and that only piqued John's confusion. "Aren't you afraid? Or sad?"

The blond looked at the man and shrugged. "Yeah, a little. But that was pretty cool. I've always wanted to be really smart." He gave a small smile to the floor, a little embarrassed. He got over the original fear and shock, and was now purely in curiosity and awe. He hasn't seen the man for more than fifteen minutes and he was already the smartest and possibly greatest man John had ever known.

"Really? You truly think so?" A nod was his answer. He sat in silence for a moment. "How would you like to join me?"

John jumped, startled at the question. "What?"

"Sherlock! Did you find it yet?" A shout came from the upper deck, making the man sigh.

"No, I found something quite more interesting, Lestrade."

There was the sound of footsteps again and John backed into the far wall of the crate. Even if the man - Sherlock, he reminded himself - could protect him, he still didn't want to get in trouble, or get Sherlock in trouble. "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock stood up and turned toward the person who entered the room. "I'm hiring another person into our ranks. I'm sure you won't mind."

"Right, and who is this?" Lestrade asked as he stepped into the storage room. "And you know you can't just recruit someone without everyone else's opinion."

"I'm sure they'll be fine with him as well," Sherlock explained as he turned back to John and laid a hand on his shoulder in an awkward sort of comfort.

He liked it.

Hesitantly, John stood up and stepped out of the crate, still holding the loaf of bread to his chest. He stayed silent, flicking his eyes to the wooden boards, to the man in front of him, to Sherlock, and back.

"A child? Sherlock, we can't keep a child!"

"I can take care of myself, mister." John said meekly, looking Lestrade in the eye a bit sheepishly. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"He did steal food from under your noses, so that just shows he is eligible to stay. Pirates have to have at least one good thief, which none of you are." Sherlock kept his hand on John's shoulder as he validated his action.

Lestrade lifted his right hand to massage his temple. "Sherlock, we can't keep him-"

"John."

Both the adults looked to the kid, who gripped the bread with determination. "What?"

"My name. It's John."

"Well, John," Lestrade started, obviously getting frustrated. "We can't let you stay, we'll try to get you back to your family."

"No. I want to stay here," the blond insisted. "I won't get in your way. I can go a week or so without eating if needed."

Lestrade stared at John in disbelief and Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, a small crack forming in his mask of indifference with the glint of worry in his eyes. "See? He obviously isn't treated well. With nowhere else to go, he should stay here."

"Sherlock, as much as I love seeing you care for someone this much, we can't let him stay!"

"Why not?" John interrupted, the burning sensation pricking his eyes again. "I want to stay here with Sherlock."

They both looked down at him in surprise, and he himself was surprised that after less than three minutes of knowing the man's name, he wanted to stay with Sherlock. John never remembered trusting anyone with his life as freely as he was doing currently. Also considering he was a pirate.

"Good Lord, have you found my ring yet?" Another voice appeared, followed by two more pairs of footsteps. In the doorway appeared a woman with curly black hair and a man with an annoying haircut. Sherlock scowled at their presence.

"No, Donovan, I would've said something if I did."

"How are we sure you're not going to steal it, Freak?" The man retaliated, making John bristle more than slightly.

"Oh please, as if I would steal a ring when-"

"I took it."

All heads turned to John for the second time. His head was bowed, one hand still clutching the bread, and other deep in his pocket, Before anyone else said anything, he took his hand out and held it up, open. In his palm sat a small golden ring. He didn't lift his head. "I was going to pawn it off for money at the next island."

"Who is this?" The woman named Donovan asked, walking to take her ring back. "Did you steal him, Freak?"

John stiffened again and when Donovan reached down to take her ring from his hand, (Sherlock was saying something, but he wasn't paying attention) John made a split second decision to lower his hand and stomp on the woman's foot as hard as he could (which was pretty hard, mind you).

"What the Hell!?" she screeched, bringing up her foot to hold it in pain. "What do you think you're doi-"

"What makes him a freak!?" John finally lifted up his head to look at the woman, revealing that his building dam of tears had burst and warm, salty water was streaming down his face. "What makes someone a freak, huh?! You have NO right to call Sherlock a freak!"

With everyone looking at him, frozen in shock, John stormed out of the storage room, fists shaking with anger and head hurting from anxiety.

However, after the blond stormed out, Sherlock looked to Lestrade again, a slight smile pulling at his lips. His mask cracked, confusion, shock, gratitude, and worry were reflected in his eyes.

"So, we are keeping him, right?"


	3. The Kid and The Flower Crown Dealer

**Hey guys, finally I got this chapter finished! I was contemplating making it an entirely separate one-shot but then I figured why not put it in here? It works! So please enjoy this very fluffy and cute chapter. :)**

 _The Kid and The Flower Crown Dealer_

Sherlock sat in the park, mildly annoyed. Yet he was also curious. Everywhere he went (which wasn't a lot of places), the kids his age were all wearing these crowns made of flowers. Flower crowns, they were called. Of course, some boys thought they were girly and didn't have them, but some still did. It annoyed him. Where was everyone getting these? Figuring this out would be much more efficient than studying.

This is what made him go up to a brown haired girl in the park. She was in his science class, and if he remembered correctly, which he always did, her name was Molly. Molly was collecting flowers and gathering them in her hands. She was holding ones of the pink and yellow variety, and held about ten or so. She wasn't wearing one of those infuriating crowns.

"Hello."

She jumped a little at his greeting, managing to keep the flowers in her hands. A slight blush went creeping up her neck. "Oh, hello Sherlock. How are you?"

"Fine," was his response, gaze fixed on the nature in her hands. "What are you doing with those?"

"I'm taking them to Mr. John. He makes really good flower crowns."

"And that's where everyone's been getting them?" Sherlock watched Molly nod and smirked triumphantly. So that's where the crowns were coming from! But who was this John? Such a common name, such an uncommon occupation. Intriguing. How to go about this puzzle?

"Why? Do you want one?"

The dark haired male scoffed. What had given her that impression? Well, as he thought about it, someone going up to you and asking where people are getting flower crowns would make it seem like he wanted one. Which he most certainly didn't. "No, of course not. However could you take me to him?"

Molly blinked owlishly at him and then smiled. She blushed a bit harder and even giggled a little bit. That made Sherlock frown. It was obvious she had a crush on him, but still. He huffed. "Well?"

"Sure Sherlock. He's usually somewhere over here." Molly lead him to a large clearing. In the grass sat a man, middle aged, blonde hair and blue eyes. He was talking to a kid about a year younger than Sherlock with round glasses and brown hair. As they got closer, Sherlock glanced at something the boy was holding - lo and behold it was a flower crown. Of course.

"Now Mike, make sure you give it to your sister without ruining it, okay?" The boy - Mike - nods and smiles when the man does. "Good, now off you go. Have a good day!"

The kid nods and turns around, heading towards the left side of Sherlock and Molly. The man chuckles a bit and turns to see the two kids. When he does so, he perks up a bit more, if that's even possible. "Molly! How have you been? You have the flowers?"

"I've been fine, thank you. And yes, here you go." She calmly handed the bundle of flowers over, and the man took them delicately. He smiled.

"Thank you. I'll have it done by tomorrow, when can you pick it up?"

"I won't be able to visit tomorrow, but the day after I can."

"The day after it is than." His vision moved to Sherlock while his hands subconsciously gathered a feel for the stems of the flowers. "And who's this? Your boyfriend?"

Molly sputtered out a string of nonsensical denials, and Sherlock furrowed his brows at the snickering man. Why did he think they were dating? It was obvious Molly had a crush on him, that was true - but them dating? No.

The man must have caught the look on Sherlock's face. "Relax, I'm just teasing. Anyway, I'm John. Nice to meet you."

Sherlock looked over the man - John - and made a deduction, muttering to himself. "Why? You have a paying job, but it's only part-time, why do this when it gets you nothing? An army pension isn't that great of a thing to live off of, especially all by yourself in London. I mean, I understand why you're not borrowing money from your…brother, but why not get a second job that pays instead of doing this?"

"Because it's good."

The sentence made Sherlock jump. He hadn't expected a response. Molly was now red in the face with embarrassment. "Please ignore Sherlock, he didn't mean it-"

Smiling, John put his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Why don't you go home? Your cat probably misses you."

Molly frowned but nodded, bidding them goodbye as "see you later," before walking home. Sherlock, however, stayed behind to watch the strange man work. His hands moved gently and in rhythm with the bits of nature he held.

"That was extraordinary, you know."

The sudden statement startled the dark-haired boy. "What?"

"What you said earlier. About me having an army pension and everything else - it was really quite extraordinary."

"Really?"

"Really. I've never met any adult that could do anything like that."

"Well, adults are stupid." This earned a huff of laughter from the other man, but no denial. "That's not normally what people say."

Finally John lifted his eyes from the flowers to look at Sherlock. "What do people normally say?"

Sherlock chuckled. "'Piss off.'"

John blinked and stared for a few seconds, then laughed. Sherlock stared at him quizzically. John answered accordingly; "Yeah, I suppose they would say that." Sherlock felt heat creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks. "So, how did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Figure out all that stuff about me."

The boy perked up, excited at this chance to show off. "I observed. You have a tan line that shows signs of you wearing a uniform - so not going abroad to vacation. Uniform, so military. Suntan and uniform so you were either in Afghanistan or Iraq. You had to get invalidated home because of an injury - your hand keeps shaking and you wince slightly when you shift your leg - therefore you have an army pension, which I know isn't that helpful when paying rent. However, you won't go to your brother most likely because you don't like his drinking. You smell faintly of alcohol, yet you don't drink or it would be more profound, so you've visited not long ago. Unlikely it's a parent, there would be less incentive to visit, so sibling with marriage issues judging by the ring-like shape in your pocket, more designed like a man's ring so brother, he probably gave it to you to hold on to for him while he was dealing with a divorce."

John said nothing for a minute and just looked at Sherlock. The boy was starting to dislike the stillness. Had he done this wrong? He thought John wanted to know. That shouldn't mena he would-

"Wow. Truly extraordinary."

Sherlock looked back into John's eyes and saw a soft twinkle of something, he couldn't place it. "Did I get anything wrong?"

John simply smiled and turned back to the flowers he held. "I did go to Afghanistan, I was a doctor in the army, got shot in the shoulder. Harry does drink, eve since they agreed on divorce. I did visit Harry just a few hours ago, actually, and no, I don't drink."

Sherlock smiled. "And Harry is your brother?"

Without looking up from his work, John made a noise - grunt - of affermitation, but only smiled wider. "Harry is short for Harriet."

Sherlock's smile slipped from his face and he froze, then groaned dramatically. "Sister, of course. There's always something!"

The blond chuckled at the other's pouting, then looked at him. "Changing the topic completely; do you want to make one?"

"One what? A crown?" At Sherlock's question, John nods, still focused on the flowers in his hands."Why would I want to?"

John shrugs. "Why not? You're just standing here, not doing anything anyway."

Sherlock takes a moment. On one hand, what is he going to do with this skill? On the other, however, he would have one more skill that Mycroft couldn't do - and he admits that talking with John isn't that bad. So, in the end, he nods subtly and says; "okay."

John smiles warmly at him. "Well, let's get to work."

For the next hour, John taught Sherlock how to make flower crowns. There were a few slip ups, and a few supply runs, but they had a wonderful time and Sherlock got the hang of it quick enough. The boy had just finished his second one when the sound of footsteps headed their way. They both turned around to see a kid older than Sherlock carrying an umbrella. The brunette instantly let out a loud groan. "Hello, brother mine."

"Mycroft."

John's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, so this is your older brother!"

Mycroft cast his glance on the blond. "And who is this?"

"This is John. He is my friend." Sherlock stood up and crossed his arms. Mycroft sent him a disbelieving stare.

"Really?"

"Yes," John interrupted, smiling at the older brother. "And you need to relax. You seem to be on high alert."

"Well, of course. I have to be on alert to make sure tha-"

Cutting off Mycroft, John took one of Sherlock's flower crowns and placed it atop the brother's head. Sherlock bit his lip to prevent him from laughing at the sight of his normally stoic-looking brother in a pretty crown made of white and pink flowers. John chuckled and turned to Sherlock. "You'll come back tomorrow, right? You still have some things to learn. Then you'll be able to make your brother look this pretty all the time."

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft with his confused glare. He turned to John, and smiled widely. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."


End file.
